


The Invitation

by Kjb2609



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Secret Santa 2015, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kjb2609/pseuds/Kjb2609
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma Swan was feeling the pressure from her family about her single status, her friend Killian seems like the perfect solution to a Christmas invitation. A CS Fake Dating AU - a gift for my CSSS auguststolemyheart</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The invitation had been sitting on Emma Swan’s kitchen counter for weeks, taunting her as the RSVP date got closer and closer. Understated, as was everything her sister-in-law did, no over the top candy canes or grinning Santas but clearly a summoning to Christmas celebrations that was not to be ignored. For the fifth time that day, Emma picked up the piece of card, hoping that this time the line that had been tormenting her since she first opened the envelope would have been magically rewritten. She held her breath while she read, but it was not to be. Right there, in Mary Margaret’s flourished hand at the bottom of the invitation.

_ Can’t wait to see you and Killian. About time we met him! _

Nope. It was still there. The very definite expectation that she would not be attending this particular family gathering alone, the way she had every other one in recent memory. She would be bringing her boyfriend and no discussion would be entered into.

Which would be fine. Perfect even.

If said boyfriend was real.

Oh  _ Killian _ was real. He was attractive and charming and funny and all round delightful. He cooked, loved small children and animals, was kind to the elderly and used  _ Princess Bride  _ quotes in day to day life. 

In other words - he was perfect.

He was just not Emma Swan’s boyfriend.

It had seemed the perfect solution when the questions started rolling in.

“Anyone special in your life, Ems?”

“You are getting out there? Not scaring men away?”

“When was the last time you got laid?” This last one was from her best friend Ruby, never one to mince her words in all the time Emma had known her.

To all these questions she had tried the vague and noncommittal approach but to no avail. Her brother and his wife started to discuss potential blind dates and Ruby had threatened to ‘employ’ someone to do the deed if she didn’t start to change her attitude.

What better way to stave off their unwanted attention than with a boyfriend, Emma had thought? A work colleague, or an acquaintance turned into more, with the added bonus of living many many miles away from her friends and family in Storybrooke.

Killian Jones had walked into the elevator in their building and into her possibly ill conceived plans at the same time. 

Neighbours for four years, Killian and Emma had built a friendship of sorts, founded on his well developed organisational skills and Emma’s lack thereof. When she left her laundry in the machine for days, he dried and folded it for her. When she came home late at night with a burning need for breakfast for dinner, he was the willing provider of milk not curdled in the base of the carton.

Over the years, their friendship had developed to the point of semi regular Friday night movie marathons and Sunday brunches. He baked her a cake on her birthday and she spent weeks before his searching for a card with just the right punchline to remind him of his advancing years.

Emma was the first to admit she was not an easy person to be friends with.  Life had not been generous in the ‘smooth sailing’ department and she eyed people warily, protecting herself with a sharp tongue and high walls. But somehow Killian had managed to infiltrate her barricades, just as her adopted brother David had done in her teenage years, and she valued his friendship more than she would ever admit. 

Sure there had been moments when the thought of something more crossed her mind - the man was ridiculously handsome on top of being a capable and independent human being - but that kind of something more had never worked out in the past. And she was not about to risk a solid friendship for a few nights of hot sex and a lifetime of awkwardness. 

They were friends and it was as it should be.

She knew his story...and he knew hers, to an extent.

Which is why, as she swiped away the Messenger icon with Mary Margaret’s smiling face after reading yet another missive about how worried they were about her, how they wanted her to find someone, just to be happy like they were, his walking into the elevator had made him appear the answer to all her problems. 

The plan formed in her mind as he made small talk about something he had watched on TV. She was only half listening, peppering the one sided conversation with ‘Mmms’ and ‘Oh, yeahs?’ as she applauded herself for her genius. 

She would tell them Killian was her boyfriend. She had pictures, stories that were true or in need of little embellishment, she knew things about him, his history, his life. With minor white lies she could get them off her back and no one would ever know a thing. By the time they went through their “amicable breakup” in a few months time - avoiding the need to cut actual Killian out of her life when it happened - they would have moved on to new projects.

It was perfect in its simplicity.

Or so she had thought. 

David and Mary Margaret bought it without question. She had mentioned a neighbour, had photos on her Instagram with him - why would they doubt it had become something more? Killian was none the wiser, the occasional Facebook comment or heart emoji from Mary Margaret explained away as a misunderstanding of the situation. 

Until the comment that had been addressed to him. 

The invitation to Christmas celebrations that he had accepted happily, delighted to have been included. 

There were 3 days till the RSVP date - and not even she was brave enough to ignore a deadline set by her sister-in-law.

She was going to have to tell him. 

He answered his door on her second knock, a wide smile on his face when he saw her.

“Were you standing behind the damn door?” she snapped. Trust him to be right there, robbing her of the chance to back out or even just to gather her thoughts. 

As ever, her sharp edge did nothing to dampen his enjoyment of her obvious discomfort.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan? Of course, it’s always a delight to have you yell abuse at me, but I confess I was not expecting it this evening.” She was just about to bite back in their usual style when the reason for her visit came to her again. Her shoulders slumped and Killian’s eyes darkened with concern.

“I’ve done something stupid,” she said.

“Well then, love, you had better come in.”    

* * *

 

There was a part of Emma that an an unhelpful urge to punch him hard as she told her story. He managed to maintain some semblance of dignity in the beginning, but his eyebrows began to take on a life of their own as her story progressed.

There was a definite smirk on his face as he held out his hand to stop her mid sentence.

“Let me get this straight, Swan,” he drawled. “To avoid your family hassling you about your lack of significant other, you told them we were an item?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at him. “Yes.”

He rubbed a hand through his scruff as if in deep contemplation. “You and I, together?”

Emma’s fist began to clench as she hissed through her teeth, “Yes.”

Killian said nothing for a moment, nodding thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling with delight as Emma fidgeted on his couch. He was playing with her and she knew it, taking every advantage of having the upper hand and she wanted to hate him for it.

She couldn’t, of course. Roles reversed, she would have made him suffer more. 

“And now you would like me to accompany you home to Storybrooke to maintain this ruse among your friends and family? Deceive the people who took you in as a child?”

Emma raised her eyes to his, eyebrows almost to her hairline. “Correct.” Before he could begin some new wordy retelling of her current predicament she snapped back, “Or we can just have a fiery break up now and be done with it.”

HIs laugh was full and rich, especially when he threw his head back and really got into it. Emma could feel her self-righteous frustration with him dissipating as the sound filled the room - his deep, throaty laugh was one of those things that came to her in her reflective moments, when her mind wandered without its usual restraints to things that made her happy, the things she couldn’t do without. She couldn’t maintain the rage when he was laughing.

And he knew it.

Her whole body relaxed, all the tension that she had held in her joints as she admitted her foolishness seeping away. She looked at him, his eyes still twinkling but his smile softer. “Look, I know it was stupid, but they drive me nuts. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ll tell them the truth, you don’t have to...”

Killian put a finger to her lip, silencing her. “On the contrary, Swan. It’s a work of genius. Mildly insane genius, of course..”

“Of course,” she interjected, but he silenced her again with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“It’s perfect. We have evidence out there already, we know each other enough to be completely believable as a couple, and I am one of the few people on earth able to overcome your inability to perform basic life skills. Match made in heaven.”

Emma was nodding all through this speech, though she cocked her head with pursed lips slightly at the last part. 

“And I assume you were thinking big painful break up a few months later, I get the house plants and the cat to give them a fighting chance and your family leave you in peace to grieve the loss of the best thing that ever happened to you? They move on to other projects, Emma resumes her life and everyone’s a winner?”

She tried not to consider how easily he all but read her mind. How well he understood her when she fought so hard to remain aloof from so many people in her life. “I thought amicable break up and we stay friends, but yeah, basically.”

“Ah yes,” he nodded. “That’s far better. Much preferable that I am still around to feed and water the pets - and you -  in some capacity.” She punched him in the arm, hard enough to furrow his brow for a moment. He rubbed the spot pointedly, shaking his head at her although she could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

He reached out and took her hand, curling his long fingers around hers gently. She tensed, but he did not let go. “Come now, Swan, if we are to be a convincing couple we need to be able to touch each other. Practice makes perfect, you know.” His hand was warm and Emma didn’t hate the way it felt to be sitting close by him like this. 

“So, you’ll do it?” she asked quietly.

“Of course, love,” he answered. He was silent for a moment, though Emma had the overwhelming sense that he had more to say. She felt the energy shift as he took his hand away, the mischievous grin returning to his face. “As I said, Swan, it’s a stroke of genius. Especially the clever way you attached yourself to the most devilishly handsome fellow you know. If you are going to have a fake boyfriend, you should always aim for the best.”

Emma rolled her eyes, secretly grateful for the shift in mood and almost certain it had been a deliberate play on his part. 

“Well unfortunately Chris Hemsworth wasn’t available,” she joked, eager to keep the mood light as long as possible. ”So you will have to do.” 

“Indeed. I will just have accept that my girl sees me as second to the God of Thunder. I suppose it’s a small price to pay.” Emma laughed and stood to go. She had an RSVP to reply to.

“I’ll give you all the details tomorrow,” she said as they walked towards his door. He opened it for her - ever the gentleman - and watched as she walked across the hall to her own. As she put her key in the lock, she turned back to him. He was slouched against his doorframe and he gave her a little wave as she pushed her door open.

“Thank you, Killian,” she said quietly. “I do appreciate it.”

He nodded as she disappeared into her apartment.

* * *

 

Killian slumped against his front door, his heart racing slightly from the evening’s events. It was possibly the most ridiculous situation he had ever encountered - and yet also the most like Emma in so many ways. Not for one minute had he ever considered saying no to her.

He was never going to deny Emma Swan his help - or his heart.

The challenge was going to be faking something that he had wanted to be real for such a long time, while denying the tiny spark of hope that being with her in any capacity was offering. Reminding himself that every touch and look and word that passed between them on this crazy adventure wasn’t real to her, no matter how much he meant every one.

Killian Jones had no doubt he could convince her family he was in love with Emma Swan.

Because he absolutely was.


	2. Chapter 2

As they drove the snow covered route to Storybrooke, Emma had a pang of regret about the whole venture. She was fine with her small deception of her family - after all, it was like giving them their Christmas wish, really - but she was beginning to have doubts of the actual practicality of the plan as a whole.

Because after 4 hours on the highway with Killian Jones and his current level of smug superiority, she suspected she would kill him before they got there. Which would, of course, negate any of the positives a fake boyfriend was supposed to accomplish.

He tended towards over-confidence at the best of times, but there was that little something extra in his swagger now, the innuendo a little more overt, the flirting a little more outrageous.

He lounged in the passenger seat, creating inane ‘what if’ scenarios about their trip and trying to make her laugh. Or lose her cool. She wasn’t sure which.

“What if we end up having a row when I get better presents than you?”

“Who says you are getting any presents?”

“Come now, Swan, these people will be eternally grateful to me for finally taking the slightly insane Emma off the market. I imagine they will lavish me with gifts.”

Emma kept driving, a wry smile on her face. They would too.

“Or what if your gorgeous cousin Ethel makes a pass at me, ey? How will we handle that?”

“No Cousin Ethel, so you are all good.”

“Or what if I am  _ so _ convincing as your fake boyfriend that you fall hopelessly in love with me for real?” She heard the tiny intake of breath he made as he finished this sentence. Her eyes stayed firmly planted on the road in front of her, unsure of quite what route to take.

She opted for the safe one.

“Hasn’t happened so far, so I think we are safe.”

He clutched at his chest in pretend pain, but Emma caught a flash of something else in his eyes when she glanced his way. She waited for his usual retort, but instead he just nodded his head. 

“True enough, Swan, true enough.” 

They drove on in silence for a while, not quite the comfortable quiet Emma was used to with him but still a chance to calm the little voice in her head that was repeating his question with monotonous regularity. 

It sounded disturbingly like her sister-in-law, if she were honest.

Deciding the unchangeable highway driving was clearly playing havoc with her common sense, Emma muttered something about needing coffee to make it through the last part of the drive and pulled into the first viable source she found. “Dive” may have been a generous description of the place, the floors sticky and the neon signs only half lit, but it provided Emma with a few moments to clear her head, away from him and his stupid jokes and his smug smirk and his soft eyes and his…

The jokes. She needed a break from that.

The coffee was surprisingly ok, considering its source, and she ordered a second cup to take to Killian as he filled the gas tank. He’d insisted on paying for the gas, despite the fact he was the one doing her a favour so a cup of reasonable coffee was the least she could do. Of course he had paid for the gas, she thought, watching through the diner window as he put the pump away and proceeded to wash down the windscreen and the rear window. He was stupidly attractive and knew it, an unbridled flirt who spouted the most ludicrous innuendo at completely inappropriate moments - but under it all was Killian. 

Killian, the guy who made sure she ate a vegetable that wasn’t in ring form occasionally, and poured her a glass of water in between tequila shots when things had gone to hell. Who was always awake when she texted him and never said no to another viewing of  _ Back to the Future _ when she needed it. Who listened to her ideas, no matter how insane, and who challenged her when she was questioning the point of her existence. 

The guy who was spending Christmas with her family just to make her life easier. Like he always did. 

“Miss?” The waitress’ voice brought her back to reality and she quickly paid for the coffees, smiling back at the girl as she wished her a Merry Christmas.

Pushing her way through the glass doors and back to where Killian waited, eyeing the paper cup in her hand warily, Emma realised it actually might be. 

* * *

 

The pressure of her fingers on the plastic of the steering wheel was starting to hurt, her knuckles white as she breathed steadily in and out, but she could not let go. She had parked the Bug right outside David and Mary Margaret’s building almost five minutes ago, but she had yet to be able to move. 

Killian’s voice was quiet and calm. “I’d ask are we there yet, Swan, but I can make my own assumptions.” Emma sighed deeply in response, ducking her head to look out the window and up to the lighted windows of her brother’s apartment. 

“Swan?” Slowly she lifted her fingers away from the wheel, turning to face him as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “All right there, love?”

“This is insanity, Killian. We will never pull this off and I will look like an even bigger loser because I had to ask you to pretend to be in a relationship with me. I mean, who does that? How screwed up do you have to be to think that’s a plan?” She paused to take a breath before slapping him hard in the chest. His eyes widened in shock before his face contorted in pain. But the floodgates had opened and Emma was far from finished.

“And you!” she continued, “You didn’t even _ try _ to talk me out of it. Oh no, genius, you said. Great plan, Swan, you said. Of course it’s not a great plan, moron. It’s freaking madness and you know it. What the hell are we both doing? We can’t pull this off. There will be fucking mistletoe in there Killian, did you know that? Mistel-fucking-toe.” This was punctuated with a series of pokes to his already smarting chest with her index finger. “And she will set us up to be under it - fuck it’s probably over the door to the bathroom so we can’t avoid it. What do we do about that? Kiss? We barely hug. The minute we kiss and it’s all weird and awkward and fake they will know. Fuck.”

She was breathing heavily now, staring out the window, small puffs of condensation fogging up the windows as they sat in silence again. 

“Feeling better now you have that out of your system?” he asked quietly. Emma’s hand clenched slightly. If there was a damn smirk on his face when she looked at him, she was going to be sorely tempted to punch it off. But instead, there was genuine concern in his blue eyes and a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She nodded. “Good. Perhaps a ‘go with the flow’ approach is best in these circumstances, love, so let’s deal with things as they arise. For instance, I am fairly sure I saw those curtains moving more than once, so shall we go in before they start to get ideas about why the windows are all fogged up? Unless you’d like me to bounce around a bit to really get them thinking?”

The eyebrow action that accompanied that suggestion was beyond ridiculous and did not deserve a response beyond an eyeroll. But as Emma pushed her door open to get out of the car, she laughed to herself. For an idiot, Killian did a good job of knowing exactly what to say when it needed saying. 

He had lifted out their bags before she had made it around to the kerb. “Thanks,” she said, reaching down to pick hers up. But before she could lift it, his hand had circled her wrist and pulled her gently towards him. His other hand slid into her hair and he pulled her lips to his, just the softest touch for just a moment. Her first thought was to pull away, but as the pressure of his mouth deepened just a fraction she found herself unable to move, her lips echoing his as they kissed. 

Her stomach swooped as her hand came up to his chest, their foreheads touching as they both exhaled together. For a crazy moment, she thought of going back, of pulling him to her and kissing him again, anything to replay the sensation she had felt as his lips first touched hers. But he stepped back slightly, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he did. He looked momentarily dazed, but his grin was soon plastered back on his face as he reached for both of their bags. “There you go, Swan, that’s got the awkwardness out of the way. Any future kisses will be smooth sailing now. Up the stairs?“ He was off before she could say a word - all she could do was follow behind, trying desperately to wipe the shocked expression from her face.

She caught him on the landing, obviously waiting for her as he was unsure of where to go. His smile was tentative, but somehow his kiss had been the reassurance she needed that this could work and she grinned before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

“Thanks,” she said. “Apparently that helped. Ready to go in, babe?”

He cocked his head quizzically at that. Emma screwed up her nose. “Just trying it out, but nope.”

“Killian will do,” he said as he followed her to the decorated door, an ornate wreath and a themed doormat a sign of things to come.   

Emma had not even knocked when the door was flung open and they were hauled inside. Clearly Killian had been right about those curtains.

* * *

 

It didn’t matter how many times she came home, the enthusiastic welcome overwhelmed her every time. The room was bright and colourful, the voices loud and animated, the hugs long and repeated. 

At least today she got to share them.

He may have been new to the game, but Killian had been well and truly initiated into the world of Nolan hospitality within the first half hour. Their bags had been abandoned by the front door as they were welcomed  _ thoroughly _ by Mary Margaret and, eventually, David. Once the pointed - and clearly well rehearsed - brotherly questions from David were out of the way, they had found themselves armed with cocoa and sandwiches and bombarded with less confrontational but equally as determined questions about every tiny detail of their relationship.

Emma had never been so grateful for pre-preparation. And Killian’s gift for storytelling.

Mary Margaret could not wipe the indulgent smile from her face as she left no stone unturned in her investigation and Emma looked on in wonder as Killian fielded every query, a little touch of her arm or her hair or her knee punctuating his words at random moments. He was really good at this, completely believable, she thought, pushing down the memory of his lips on hers and the tingle it sent shooting up her spine. When he put an arm around Emma’s shoulders and placed a soft kiss on her temple, she thought her sister-in-law would burst. 

And that it was good her brother left his firearm at work.

She closed her eyes for just a minute, the day’s driving finally catching up with her, a sign Mary Margaret was quick to pick up on.

“Oh Emma, I’m so sorry,” she apologised. “You must be exhausted and here I am just throwing questions at you both before you have even had a chance to unpack or freshen up or anything. Why don’t you take Killian upstairs and settle in? Dinner is not for half an hour or so.”

“That sounds great,” Emma replied, grateful for the chance to gather her thoughts again after the welcoming onslaught. Killian stood and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet with a smile. 

“I’ll call you when they get here,” David said. Emma looked questioningly as Mary Margaret glared at him. He shrugged at his wife who just huffed in frustration and began collecting mugs and plates. “A couple of people couldn’t wait till the party tomorrow to see you,” David explained as he followed his wife to the kitchen.

Emma hoped desperately his couple was really two and not half of Storybrooke. 

He’d gotten that wrong before.

Killian waited at the base of the stairs, their bags in hand. “After you, Swan,” he said, gesturing her on ahead.

Emma stopped suddenly as she entered the guest room. Surely this was a new, smaller bed? The one she remembered was much, much wider, with plenty of room to stay firmly on your own side. But this bed was tiny, surely… 

“Swan?” Killian arrived behind her, all but colliding with her where she stood. “Are you alright?” He followed her line of sight, his mouth twisting into a smirk when he realised it was the bed that had her so rattled. “Something wrong with the sleeping arrangements, love?”

She took a deep, deep breath, squaring her shoulders before shaking her head resolutely.

He knew her better than that.

“I realise the thought of keeping those wandering hands off me in such close quarters is worrisome, Swan, but rest assured I would not be at all offended if you were to fail. I am well aware of my rakish charms.”

“Are you? Really?” The tension she had felt was ebbing away as the urge to wipe the lascivious grin off his face grew stronger. He knew her better than anyone.

“I’ve heard talk,” he said, tossing their bags unceremoniously on to the bedcovers before sitting down himself. He patted the spot next to him, indicating for her to sit down but she folded her arms resolutely across her chest. His face softened as he looked at her, the exaggerated leer replaced by one of his real smiles, the ones that were clearer in his eyes than on his lips.

The ones that always -  _ always _ \- made her smile back.

He indicated the spot beside him again and she sat, hands planted either side of her body on the edge of the mattress. 

“Is this a mistake, Killian?” she asked,

He laughed softly. “Quite likely, love. But I am behind you one hundred percent and if this is what you need to do to get through this holiday then I will be the best bloody fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“You are.” She reached out her hand for his, wrapping her fingers softly around it. She watched as he shifted their position, intertwining his long fingers with hers, his thumb moving gently back and forth over her skin. Their eyes caught and she smiled at him, before resting her head on his shoulder. She felt his body tense slightly, his grip on her hand tightening as they sat there, but she stayed where she was, unwilling to move when this felt so right to her. “Thank you,” she whispered.  

He looked up towards the ceiling, eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured in the air. “Take that, you great Asgardian fool.” Emma sat up, rolling her eyes as she gave him a sharp shove back onto the floral bedcover. 

“Idiot.” 

“And you like it, Swan. Admit it.”

“We’d better get back downstairs,” she said, “they’ll be waiting.” She stood and headed towards the door, anything to avoid thinking about how much she had liked all of that. She didn’t look back as she started down the open stair, but his response made her breath catch as she walked away.

“As you wish.” 

* * *

 

David answered the knock at the door as Emma and Killian made their way downstairs. A loud voice boomed from the doorway. “Where's my girl?” 

Emma grinned as she was enveloped in the arms of an older lady, her gray hair barely contained on top of her head and half glasses perched on her nose. The woman pulled back to take her in, a knowing eye scanning her from head to toe. “Hmm, you look well, Emma. Still putting those bad guys away?” 

“I always get my man, Granny, you know that.”

“Taught you everything you know. Well come on, let's get a look at him.” 

“Who?” Emma asked innocently but Granny just pursed her lips, eyebrows raised expectantly. Killian stepped forward, hand outstretched.

“Killian Jones.” His introduction was largely ignored as Granny looked him up and down appraisingly, her eyes narrowing slightly at the deep vee of his shirt and again somewhere round his belt buckle. Emma bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop from laughing as he slowly drew back his extended hand, his lips twitching in amusement. 

“Turn,” she ordered. 

He looked disbelievingly at Emma, although he was clearly struggling to contain the wide grin she knew was desperate to get out. Emma just shrugged in mock defeat, and with Granny tapping her foot impatiently, he obliged, pausing deliberately when he had his back to them. 

He turned back towards them, any attempt to hide his amusement now forgotten as he grinned at Emma. 

“Swan, you specifically told me you had no beautiful relatives who would try to hit on me.” 

“Oh trust me, boyo, you'll know when I'm hitting on you,” stated Granny emphatically, as Emma looked helplessly from one to the other. 

“Yeah it'll be in a couple of hours and half a bottle of rum,” came a new voice. A dark haired girl put her hands on Granny's shoulders and directed her away from Killian and Emma, giving her a small shove in the process. She held out a hand to Killian.

“Hi, I'm Ruby. Keeper of the desperate old lady.” Killian shook her hand with a warm smile. “Sorry about that. She's harmless really.”

“Not at all, love,” he smirked. “It's always good to make an impression.” Emma turned on him, a look of disbelief planted on her face but it soon turned to laughter as he waggled his stupid eyebrows at her. Ruby hugged her tight, whispering in her ear as she did. “Damn Ems, look at you with Mr Sex-on-Legs.” 

A line about apples and trees ran through Emma's head, but instead she let Ruby loop an arm around her shoulder and lead her back into the thick of the gathering, Killian following behind. Mary Margaret ushered them all towards the dining table, directing them to their seats as she transported platters and plates from the counter to the table. Emma and Killian stood back for a moment, keeping himself out of the way as she handed a particularly heavy looking dish to David. Ruby wasted no time in pointing out the consequence of their good manners.

“Excuse me, lovebirds, I believe you owe us a floorshow,” she joked, indicating a spot above Emma’s head. Their eyes looked upwards simultaneously, Emma’s shoulders slumping in defeat when she saw the small sprig of greenery that hung there. She didn’t want to look at him, knowing she would see that self satisfied half smile playing on his lips, regretting every stupid idea that had brought her here as her traitorous stomach flipped in anticipation of his lips.

She met his eyes slowly, twinkling blue with mischief as he tapped his index finger on his lips and raised his eyebrows at her in anticipation.

“Well Swan, we can’t keep the good folks…”

Her hands were fisted in his shirt, hauling him towards her before the words had left his mouth. There was nothing tentative about this kiss, her lips pressing hard against his as his hands came around her waist and pulled her in closer. Her skin tingled as she angled her head slightly, one hand toying with the dark hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed her back just as eagerly. 

“I told you we didn’t need the damn mistletoe,” came David’s voice, jerking them both back to the eerie silence of reality. Emma stepped back, her breaths heavy and her eyes blinking wildly as she remembered where she was. Killian stood with wide eyes and a stunned expression, searching her face for some clue as to the next move, she assumed. As if she had any idea.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she kept her eyes on him, watching as the shock changed to a soft smile she didn’t really understand, especially when she realised her family were still watching her intently. Ruby broke the tension, standing and applauding loudly.

“Well that’s what I paid for the good seats for,” she laughed, shushing David with an outstretched finger before he even tried to protest. “Way to go, Ems. Now, can we eat? I’m starving.”

The room began to return to normal, Mary Margaret swinging back into hostess duties seamlessly as David began to pass plates and fill glasses. Killian ushered her towards her seat, but she hung back.

“I’ll be there in a second,” she said, “Go sit down.” His raised eyebrow was enough for her to know he was worried, her small nod enough, she hoped, to reassure him. He went to the table, as she poured herself a shot of Granny’s rum and, after checking the others were all distracted by the movement in the dining room, tossed it back in a single swig.

She would have to scan more carefully for the mistletoe, she thought, because another kiss like that might raise questions she did not feel qualified to answer.

* * *

 

Dinner had gone far more smoothly than he had anticipated after Emma had launched herself at him. The shot of rum she thought no one had noticed had clearly taken the edge off her inevitable discomfort and there seemed to be no reason her family weren’t believing their story.

If she kept kissing him like that, he was going to bloody believe it too. 

“So it all finally got too much for her?” Killian turned sharply at the voice of Granny in his ear as she climbed onto the stool next to him at the counter, tumbler of rum in hand. Her eyes followed Emma as she and David bickered over some childhood disagreement, Emma’s eyes flashing and her cheeks tinged pink, clearly enjoying every minute of the standoff. 

“I'm not sure I'm following you,” he replied cautiously.

“I told Mary Margaret she was pushing Emma too hard about finding someone. And of course Emma would...so who are you? Workmate? Acquaintance?” 

“I’m Emma’s boyfriend,” he answered evenly but she barely let him finish. 

“My ass you are. Some kind of  _ hired  _ escort?” The implication was clear. He snorted in amusement but the older woman looked disturbingly interested in that possibility. 

“Neighbour and friend,” Killian replied quickly. 

“Shame,” she muttered before laughing out loud. Killian found himself joining in, as Granny poured him a whisky to match her own. She held out her glass and they clinked them together. 

“How did you know?” he asked, sipping from the glass and enjoying the burn as the liquid flowed down his throat. A thought struck him suddenly. “And do they…” He waved his hand towards Emma’s family. 

It was Granny’s turn to snort derisively. She looked at Mary Margaret, curled up at David’s side as he and Emma talked. “That girl is so desperate to have Emma matched up with someone she won’t realise even if you sleep on the couch. And David, you may have noticed, is making a concerted effort to not to think about it at all.” 

“That’s a relief.”

“Hmm,” she said “I’m sure. Still, kiddo, that kiss wasn’t fooling me for a minute. Oh, it was clearly a great kiss,” she said, as he made a move to protest, “but no real couple stare at each other in absolute shock at the end of one, no matter how good. And Emma-girl was looking at you like...well suffice it to say I have known her a long time and that threw her for a loop.”   

She wasn’t alone there. His fingers made their way to brush across his mouth unconsciously, the memory of Emma’s lips on his still palpable. He sighed heavily and took another sip of his rum. 

“You love her?” Granny’s voice was low and whispered, something protective in her tone that sent a surge of warmth through him, somehow glad that Emma had this woman in her life, who so clearly understood her and all her quirks. He merely nodded in response, his eyes never leaving the older woman’s face. Somehow her approval of him seemed vital. 

A peal of laughter rang through the apartment, Killian’s eyes moving straight to the source. Emma’s head was back as she leaned in to Ruby, her shoulders shaking as she laughed at whatever the brunette had said. He wondered if hearing it made other people’s stomachs twist, if it made them as determined to hear it again as it always made him. He caught her eye for just a moment, time enough for them to exchange a look and a real Emma smile - the one that lit her face from within.

God, she was beautiful when she laughed. 

Granny reached out to him, her eyes taking in the awed expression he knew must be plastered on his face. Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently as she climbed down off the stool. “Hang in there, kid. Promise me you won’t give up on her.”

He nodded again, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was a promise he fully intended to keep.


	3. Chapter 3

With Granny and Ruby gone home, Emma had dreaded the thought of more interrogation from David and Mary Margaret, but it seemed their interest was sated for the moment and they quickly  said their goodnights and headed to bed.

Mary Margaret giggled as Emma made her way to the stairs. “Just remember, you two, that there are no walls around that room of yours.” Emma tensed, but her discomfort was nothing compared to her brother’s.

“Yes, really,  _ really _ remember that,” he said through gritted teeth, eyeing Killian suspiciously. Wicked grin in place, Killian swept Emma into his arms and made a show of nuzzling into her neck, his eyes never leaving David’s. Emma slapped at Killian’s arm as her brother turned away, his head shaking as Mary Margaret patted him comfortingly.

“OK, that’ll do Captain Grabby Hands,” she hissed at him, ignoring the traitorous flush that was creeping up her neck as his nose nudged persistently at her ear. He pulled back slightly, grin still in place as he whispered to her.

“Just making sure no one has any doubts, Swan.” 

Their mistletoe kiss popped into Emma’s mind unbidden, and she pulled away from him quickly, heading up the stairs before he could see her thoughts clear in the red tinge of her cheeks. As she entered the bedroom, Emma sucked in a breath, the reality of sleeping next to him with this unfamiliar buzz under her skin unsettling her immensely. 

He was quick to offer her first use of the bathroom, an opportunity Emma took willingly, needing a moment to get herself together. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror,  trying to gauge just when her body had started to react to Killian Jones. What signs had she missed in her face or her skin that could have warned her that him kissing her, even when it was just for show, would make her long for him to do it again? 

She brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, grateful for the flannel sleep gear necessitated by the Storybrooke cold, knowing her usual tank and shorts would have done nothing to conceal the way her body flushed when he got too near.

When she returned to her - _ their _ \- room, he looked her up and down, grinning at her pirate themed sleep pants. “Ah, you’re wearing my favourites, Swan. I’d love to think you remembered my preference for good old Hook but..”

“Only thing left clean in the dresser.” 

“Just as I feared.” He shook his head sadly as he walked towards the bathroom. As he reached the doorway, he turned and indicated towards the bed, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. “Now remember, love, I am not adverse to a bit of cuddling so don’t feel you need to sleep on the floor in order to contain any  _ urges _ you may have.” 

Emma rolled her eyes at him as she slipped under the covers, purposefully tucking the blankets firmly under her body as he watched. “No urges here,” she assured him. “Unless you count the one I have to punch that smug smile off your face occasionally?” 

She was almost certain the smug smile in response was a deliberate choice. “You know what they say, Swan,” he smirked. “There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.” He ran his tongue along his lips slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Emma clenched her fists in the blankets, ignoring the twist in her stomach as she tried to force herself to look away, to roll her eyes, to do anything but focus on whatever he was doing with his mouth. 

“Well, your pain will be my pleasure if you don’t stay on your side of this bed,” she snapped, and she turned away sharply, pulling the covers almost over her head. She heard his quiet laugh from the doorway. 

“You know, Swan, I quite fancy you when you are threatening me with physical violence. Does things to me.” There was a pause. Emma said nothing, but could hear him exhale deeply. The flirtatious tone in his voice was gone when he spoke again. “Get some sleep, love.”  

“Okay.” 

Emma snuggled in under the blanket, her eyes heavy but her brain on high alert. These unfamiliar feelings had taken her by surprise, and as she lay in the dim light she could almost feel the soft fabric of his shirt in her fingers and the rasp of his scruff on her chin. His kiss by the car had been soft and reassuring, had convinced her they could make her family believe they were together, but the moment she had dragged his lips to hers, hard and desperate - well that was something else entirely.

She had no idea where it had come from - the need to be in his space, to pull him closer and kiss him senseless. But even now as she listened to him moving around in the bathroom, she could feel the press of his lips on hers. 

She needed to remember what this was - to remember how important having Killian as her friend was. No matter how warm his skin felt on hers and how much her body was drawn to him.

Her breathing evened as the exhaustion of the day started to catch up and by the time Killian slipped into the other side of the bed, Emma had almost drifted off into sleep. He had settled himself far on the other side of the mattress, his back turned to her; she could feel the space between them in a way she could not understand.

“Goodnight, love,” came his muffled voice.

Emma was out cold before she could reply.

* * *

 

It took her a moment to remember where she was - her eyes opening slowly as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The setting soon became familiar - but the hard plane under her fingers and the heavy warmth across her body were not as easy to reconcile. Emma moved her hand tentatively on the unfamiliar surface, little swirls of her fingers that caught in the hair beneath them.

When he moaned softly, she drew back her hand in surprise and he shifted slightly at the sudden movement. Killian’s arms were around her, her head nestled on his shoulder as he held her to his side. The weight of his forearm at her hip was suddenly tenfold, but somehow she could not bring herself to move away from him. 

It had been a long, long time since she had felt comfortable sleeping in someone’s arms. 

It had been a long, long time since she had given herself the opportunity to try.

Emma watched as he slept beside her, his face looking impossibly younger in its relaxed state. His breathing was heavy and even, his lips curled softly in a smile. Even in the dim light of the loft there was no mistaking how handsome he was, the strong line of his jaw and its ginger-tinged scruff, his long lashes resting softly on his cheeks. 

The temptation to run her finger along his jawline was too much to resist. Her touch was feather-soft, but it was enough to stir him from deep sleep, his arm around her shoulder tightening as he pulled her closer towards him. She felt his nose nudging in her hair and he murmured something against her skin that sounded for all the world like her name;  _ Emma _ , in a whispered voice full of longing.

Common sense told her he was dreaming, that he had no idea what he was doing, what he was saying. 

There in his arms, in the dark and the warmth, her heart was wishing for something far less sensible.

Emma could no longer ignore the dull ache in her left arm, pinned between their bodies and she tried to wriggle it free without disturbing Killian’s sleep, but it proved impossible. His eyes blinked open and Emma watched as he focused on her, the moment in which he realised where he was and what he was doing clear. 

“Couldn’t stay away, buddy?” she asked, hoping the light hearted approach would soften the furrow in his brow. His eyes were dark with concern, no sign of his usual flirtation or flippant remarks as he slipped his arm out from under her and pulled the covers tight around him. 

“My apologies, Swan,” he mumbled. “It appears I may have lost all sense of decorum. I can move to the armchair if I have made you feel uncomfortable…” 

“Killian, it’s fine,” she said quickly, cutting him off before he actually climbed out of the bed. She smiled nervously at him, watching as his expression moved from concern to confusion. “I don’t actually think it was  _ all _ you.”

It took a moment in his sleep-addled state, but his lips soon quirked in a grin. “Always suspected you were fighting to keep your hands off me, Swan.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, more grateful to be back in familiar territory than she had expected. “Don’t push your luck, Jones,”

“Well you feel free to push yours.” 

Shaking her head, Emma snuggled down into the covers, turning her back to him as she made herself comfortable. No part of their bodies were touching, but she remained supremely aware of his closeness, conscious of every little movement as he settled down to sleep again. He pulled the covers and the blanket slipped from her shoulder. Emma reached to pull it back, but instead of the soft fleece fabric she found Killian’s fingers, one step ahead of her. 

There was a moment of stillness, neither of them moving but neither pulling away, their hands linked at her shoulder. 

“Sleep tight, love,” he whispered, a tremble in his voice that made Emma’s breath catch and her body want him nearer. Before she could talk herself out of it, she curled her fingers around his and pulled his hand around her, drawing him close behind her as the comforting weight of his arm rested on her hip.

She expected words, questions,  _ something  _ from him, but there was only a deeply inhaled breath near her ear as his thumb traced lines lightly on her hand. She smiled to herself, nudging a foot between his and allowing herself to drift off without questioning the consequences.  

“Just in case someone comes in,” she murmured as her eyes began to close.

“Of course, love.” he answered in a whisper, his hand coming to rest on her stomach as he snuggled in behind her. 

* * *

 

No one was going to come in. He knew that.  _ She _ knew that. But his arm was wrapped around her waist, her feet tangled up with his and she wanted him to be there so he didn’t bloody care. 

Something was different between them since she had taken his breath away with her lips on his, a kiss like no other he could remember. He could still feel every tiny detail of the way her mouth had moved against his, her fingers tight in his shirt like she was hanging on for dear life.

She was different. 

Her breathing was smooth and even, and he smiled at the thought of her falling asleep so easily as he held her in his arms. He had expected Emma to put up a fight - a line of demarcation down the bed, banishment to the floor when his unconscious self had acted on those things that had been merely dreams for so long.

Instead he had this. He held her close, his body curled around hers, his fingers sparking where her shirt had moved and they brushed the softness of her skin. 

He almost didn’t dare to breathe for fear of waking her, wanting -  _ needing _ \- to prolong this moment with the woman he loved. 

No pep talk from Granny, no tiny flicker of hope when she looked at him with something new in her green eyes, none of these things compared to knowing, in this moment at least, Emma Swan wanted him close to her. 

His own eyes were growing heavy, despite every effort to stay awake and just drink in her nearness. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring - Emma’s protective walls were a powerful force and he had every expectation of them closing in again when she woke in his arms. 

If what he had was now, then he would take it. 

~~~**~~~

When Emma's eyes blinked open again, sunlight was streaming through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom. She felt relaxed and rested, more than she had since the day she had come up with this whole crazy plan. As she stretched herself awake, she realised the comforting weight of Killian’s arm was missing - and she fought hard with herself to not ask why she missed it. 

When she rolled towards his side of the bed, she realised she was alone. Her eyes scanned the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Soft voices drifted up to her from the kitchen, coupled with the clattering of plates and cups and a definite waft of cooking bacon. Her mouth watered as she realised Killian’s probable whereabouts and she rolled herself out of bed and to the top of the landing.

Killian was at the cooktop watching the bacon sizzle, his dark t shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned stomach as he reached for the carton of eggs on the counter. Emma’s eyes were drawn to the trail of dark hair that made its way into the waistband of his sleep pants and she stared shamelessly as he cracked eggs into the pan.  

David was seated at the counter and the two men chatted easily as Killian cooked. Emma smiled at the contrast from the previous night - gone was the ruthless interrogator and in its place was a man delighted to have finally found his soulmate. 

The smell of the bacon was becoming irresistible. Never normally one to fuss over her morning appearance, something sent Emma to the mirror, fluffing her bed hair slightly. Her hand hovered  over her lip gloss for a brief moment before she stared at herself in disbelief.

Since when did she need gloss at breakfast? What the hell was she doing? She grabbed a hairtie and twisted her long blonde hair into a messy ponytail, defying every urge to preen before heading down to join Killian for breakfast.

His face lit up when he saw her on the stairs, a look that made her heart jump at the sincerity in his eyes. He was her friend, he always looked happy to see her, she rationalised, all the time knowing that this was something different.

No wonder her family were believing their story - a tiny part of her was starting to believe it too.   

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek as she picked a piece of particularly crunchy bacon from the plate beside him. She felt her cheeks colour as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a line of tiny kisses along her jaw.

It was quite the romantic moment, if the exaggerated vomiting noises coming from her brother were anything to go by.

“Are we twelve, Dave?” Killian asked with a grin, not loosening his hold on Emma’s waist or moving his lips far from her skin. 

“I think he wishes I still was,” Emma laughed, leaning in to Killian a little more than she needed to as she watched her brother squirm. Killian’s breath was warm on her neck and her skin felt alive at his touch - and she was enjoying every moment. 

Not one bit felt like play acting - and she was far less worried about that than she should be. 

* * *

 

It was inevitable. Emma thought, that they would all be ejected from the apartment and sent out to show Killian the sights of Storybrooke once Mary Margaret hit “panicky pre-party” mode. When David had moved a cushion on the sofa inappropriately for the third time, her sister-in-law had left them in no doubt that their presence was no longer required.

The sights of Storybrooke were limited at best, of course, so the three of them had soon found themselves at Granny’s nursing bottomless cups of coffee - or cocoa in Emma’s case - as David told hilarious stories about each new customer that walked into the diner. Apparently the sheriff of a small town saw things. Interesting and slightly disturbing things. 

Emma knew she would never look at Leroy quite the same way again. 

“Just don’t call him Grumpy,” David finished, as the three of them followed the stocky man with their eyes as he made his way to the counter. He stared back, eyebrows furrowed suspiciously at them until Emma waved at him and he broke into a grin.

“Swan, you never told me you grew up in that bloody Star’s Hollow from that terrible fast talking show you insisted I watch,” Killian laughed as Emma rolled her eyes. “I thought that was the maddest town I had ever seen but if even half of these stories are true, I will be hard-pressed to look some people in the eye this evening.” 

“Did you mean that fast talking show I see in your Netflix queue every time I look?” Emma shot back. “Team Jess, you were, weren’t you?”

“Well yes, of course I was. Clever lad, well matched for Ror…” he grinned and waggled a finger at Emma. “Well played, Swan, I see what you did there.” 

“I’m glad _ you _ do,” David said, “Because I have no idea what you are both talking about.”

Killian draped his arm around Emma’s shoulder and pulled her in close. “We are so connected, love,” he said with a wink. “Now shall we have another round? Perhaps some of those atrociously unhealthy onion rings?” Emma nodded and he stood to go, but not before he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

Emma’s eyes followed him all the way to the counter, something hypnotic in the way he walked that she was sure had absolutely nothing to do with the way his jeans fit the curve of his ass and his long legs. She sighed heavily as an image of him lounging in her car and joking about her falling for him came to her mind. It felt very like she was doing exactly that, despite her having a million reasons not to. 

David was grinning madly at her when she looked up.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” her brother replied quickly although the wide smile remained as he eyed her knowingly. She followed as his eyes flicked to Killian, now seated at the counter next to Leroy after being cornered by Granny. The older woman was speaking animatedly as Killian listened intently. Emma smiled to herself at the memory of their first meeting and wondered how long she should leave him before she rescued him from Granny’s clutches. His rich, throaty laugh rang across the diner at that moment and she decided he was clearly holding his own.

She turned back to her brother, rolling her eyes when she saw the self satisfied smile that was still on his lips. 

“Cut the crap, David. What are you grinning at?”

“You love him.” It wasn’t a question and something in his tone was very unsettling. 

“Well yes, David, he is my boyfriend.” Sarcasm was always the fallback position, always her first line of defence.

David looked at her with one eyebrow raised and for a brief moment Emma considered the contrasting effect that movement could have on a different face and in a different set of circumstances.

“Okay. But you _ actually _ love him.” 

Emma held her breath as she prepared to have her entire plan unraveled before her eyes. Somehow her brother knew the secret - despite the kiss and the way she and Killian had been together…

“This one is finally the real deal,” David continued before she could respond. “You've actually let go enough to let him in.” She let out the breath she had been holding as she realised her brother hadn’t worked it out. He thought she was really in love with Killian Jones.

He seemed to mistake her relief for something else. 

“Did you think we wouldn't approve of him or something?” Emma just shook her head. “He's a great guy Emma, both Mary Margaret and I think so. He is obviously crazy about you, you can see it in the way he looks at you.”

“That could be lust, David, he's kind of handsy a lot of the time.” Her brother shuddered visibly at the thought and Emma relaxed for just a second, grateful for the moment of relief her jolke offered. This whole conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn. David believing she and Killian were a couple was one thing, but this talk of love - real love - was something else entirely. Something in the way she was with Killian had convinced him it was all real and more than she had ever bargained on when this crackpot plan had come to her.

She was just not sure she was that good of an actor.

“I think I made myself clear on my feelings about  _ that _ this morning,” David said with a grin. “And you can deflect attention from the fact the man is completely in love with you all you want. But the fact remains.”

He looked so pleased with himself. And not nearly finished.

“Just like the fact that you are in love with him right back.” She made a move to protest, anything to end the surreal episode of Dr Phil she seemed to be living at this moment. But he was too quick for her. “I know love, Emma, and I know you and this conversation -” he gestured between them - “this might be the first time you've let yourself think about it but you know it's true. And I know it is scary as hell for you. But this relationship is the real deal and you love him.”

Emma's eyes were drawn to the man across the room, still deep in conversation with the diner owner. He had slotted into her life so easily, had made himself invaluable without her even realising until she had rejected the idea of more with him out of abject fear of losing what she had.

But she had forgotten to consider what she stood to gain.

“Emma?” David interrupted her thoughts, just as Killian slapped a departing Leroy on the back and told him to have fun storming the castle. The bearded man looked questioningly but Emma could not suppress a smile at the timing. Killian caught her eye and winked, his grin contagious.

“Emma,” her brother said again, and she turned back to face him. 

“I guess we should be grateful he didn't start singing ‘Heigh Ho’,” David said with a sigh. “You two really do make a good team, he's running interference on the big conversations now. No wonder you’re in love with him. But I do have one last question for you.”

Emma bit down on her bottom lip, unsure of where this was headed.

“I know you love him, you know you love him -” he paused, raising his eyebrows as if challenging her to argue, but Emma remained silent. “But when are you going to let him in on the secret?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Margaret had outdone herself. The loft looked like some kind of sparkly winter wonderland as what seemed like the entire population of Storybrooke milled around the living room, drinks in hand and full of the kind of cheer that only Granny’s famous rum punch could provide.  

It seemed as though every one of those guests had found a reason to come and be introduced to the man who had apparently stolen the heart of Emma Swan and Killian, to his credit, was playing his part with aplomb.

He was every bit the attentive boyfriend, always seeking her out with a glance or a smile when they were separated. When they were side by side, his hand was on the small of her back or intertwined with hers, his thumb making lazy circles on her skin. It should have been easy, a comfortable closeness that achieved everything she had wanted in inviting him here.

But instead she could not get her brother’s words out of her head. 

Emma had spent a long time steeling herself against the dangers of falling in love. Years of pushing people away, keeping herself aloof, resorting to meaningless one-night stands when the itch got too much to bear. All of which had lead to years of dodging questions from well-meaning friends about settling down and finding someone.

Culminating, of course, in pretending to be in a relationship to get her family off her back.

And  _ that _ had worked out particularly well.

Because as Killian handed her a glass of Granny’s punch, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he came in close to brush his lips on her cheek, the low tug in her gut was a stark reminder that everything David had said in the diner was a definite and distinct possibility.

The punch was gone in a single swallow.

Killian raised a quizzical eyebrow when he noticed the empty glass but Emma only shrugged, holding the cup out to him and leaving no doubt of her wishes. 

“Already, Swan?” he questioned, “Don’t want to pace yourself?”

Emma’s eyes flashed. “It’s a party, isn’t it?” she snapped, immediately regretting the tone but unable to contain the swirl of uncertain feelings that set her on edge.

“Indeed, love” he said quietly, taking her glass and disappearing into the crowd near the kitchen counter. Emma’s shoulders slumped, hating herself for treating him badly when he had done nothing except everything she had asked. Nothing except remind her with every word and action that she may have been keeping someone wonderful at arm’s length for years. 

Nothing like Christmas to prove you were even more screwed up than you had initially thought.

Mary Margaret floated past, eyes scanning left and right for an empty platter or dirty glass. She smiled warmly at Emma.

“Everyone’s been saying how much they love Killian,” she confided, pilfering a pair of champagne flutes out of the hands of David as he passed them, and pressing one into Emma’s hand with a wink. She clinked their glasses together. “To finding true love.” 

Emma said nothing in response, just took a healthy swig of the sparkling wine. The bubbles tickled her nose and she could feel the slight buzz of the alcohol, coming so soon after the potency of Granny’s punch. Her family were certainly throwing the ‘L’ word around pretty liberally and while she acknowledged that had been the aim of the exercise in many ways, there was something not quite comfortable about them being  _ so _ convinced.  

Her silence did nothing to deter Mary Margaret. “I’m so happy for you, Emma,” she said, draping an arm around Emma’s shoulders and gesturing with her glass in the direction of Killian, now cornered by the punch bowl by Granny and Ruby. As they watched, Granny maneuvered herself deftly under the mistletoe, beckoning Killian towards her with a wink. He looked all around as if she was calling someone else, raising his eyebrows skyward in mock surprise before planting a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. 

Mary Margaret snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Well, Granny’s definitely taken to him,” she joked as Ruby made a show of pulling him away from her grandmother. Killian’s laugh rang out across the room, rich and warm and enough to draw a sigh from Emma that her sister-in-law did not miss. “And she is definitely not the only one, is she?” Her eyes scanned Emma’s face relentlessly until Emma had to look away, feeling the heat in her cheeks under such scrutiny. 

“Not the only one what?” 

He was a sneaky bastard. Wishing briefly she had bought him a bell for Christmas, Emma looked up at Killian, now standing in front of them, a full glass of punch in his outstretched hand. The hint of a smirk played on his lips and Emma was all but certain he knew exactly what Mary Margaret had been talking about.

She took the punch without a word. 

And while Emma may have been speechless, Mary Margaret rarely was. 

“You really have captured the hearts of Storybrooke, haven’t you?” Mary Margaret said happily, grinning as Killian took an elaborate bow. “I mean Granny is a sucker for a pair of skinny jeans and a good leather jacket, but the heart of Emma Swan is not so easily won.” The all too familiar flush of warmth hit Emma’s cheeks, accompanied by that inexplicable urge to punch something. 

Or possibly someone. 

She raised her eyes slowly to his, the order to say nothing implicit in her expression. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw hope on his face, but in a blink the smirk was in place, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Well I do like a challenge, Ms Nolan, and our Emma is most certainly that.”

Emma sighed, and examined closely the contents of her glass. Anything to not be part of this conversation that kept skirting the edges of real feelings and asking questions she now intended to be far too drunk to answer.

The glass was empty in mere moments. 

“Another, Swan?” he asked, worry evident in his eyes now - a far more comfortable option than what she had seen there before.

“If it’s not too much of a challenge.”

* * *

 

As David ushered the last of the revellers out into the cold of Christmas Eve, Emma tried to look inconspicuous as she poured the last dregs of the punch out of the bowl and into her cup. A small amount may have spilled onto the bench, but she was almost certain no one realised just how much alcohol she had managed to consume in the course of the party - she was completely in control, of course, she always was, but the buzz in her head and the tingle under her skin were definitely loosening her up.

A bit. 

Killian was collecting glasses and lining them up by the sink as Mary Margaret stacked trays and platters into the dishwasher as David finally closed the door and locked it firmly behind him. 

“Another successful evening,”  he said, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist and pulling her from the kitchen. “Come and sit - you’ve done enough for one night.” Mary Margaret looked like she was preparing to protest but something in David’s expression quietened her and she joined him on the couch, tucking herself under his arm.

Killian continued his busboy duties, the glasses in his hands giving Emma an idea. She opened one of the high kitchen cabinets, a brief search behind a stack of dishes uncovering a hidden treasure - the expensive bottle of rum she had given David on his last birthday. 

“Holding out on us, Dave?” she drawled, waving the bottle in his direction. “Will I get glasses or will straight from the bottle work?” Emma twisted off the cap, the aroma alone enough to reignite the spark of the alcohol in her system. 

“Glasses,” Mary Margaret stated emphatically, jumping in before her husband could answer. 

“Glasses,” David echoed sadly.

Killian’s eyes flicked across Emma’s face, worry creasing the corners of his eyes. “Maybe a nice cup of tea, Swan?” he whispered as he sidled up behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder as his body pressed lightly against her. Her first thought was to sink back into him, but instead she turned on him, her eyes narrowed in warning and he raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll just a rinse a couple of glasses, shall I?” 

“Good plan, Jones,” she said, taking a quick swig from the bottle as he ran some water in the sink. The rum was rich and warm and she closed her eyes for just a moment to enjoy the sensation. She was definitely drunk now - relaxed and happy and definitely not bothered any more by the knowing looks and talk of love from David and Mary Margaret. Only one thing was  _ bothering _ her at this moment, in fact - the powerful tug of want that sat low in her belly as she watched Killian deliver glasses of rum to their hosts before returning for his own. 

Drunk or not, her body was one hundred percent ready to move this thing out of the realm of fantasy and into cold, hard... _ hard, she snorted, her stomach clenching at the thought _ ...reality. 

“Come and sit down, you two,” David called. “We were just saying we should open our presents seeing as you have to head back fairly early tomorrow. It’s after midnight already.” 

Handing her a glass, Killian laced his fingers with Emma’s as he lead her towards the armchair in the corner. He sat in the chair and patted his lap invitingly, his expression daring her to take up his offer, a leering grin and twinkling eyes doing nothing to lessen the heat in Emma’s stomach. All courage and bravado, she sunk into his lap, legs sprawled across the arm of the chair. His arm snaked around her back and despite her dulled senses there was no mistaking the small sigh that escaped him as she snuggled in close.

David was already under the Christmas tree, gathering the parcels and gift bags that were hidden there. Into Emma's hands he placed a red wrapped gift, the tag written in a looping script that she knew could only belong to one person. She ran her fingers over the letters lightly, a big part of her wanting to tear into the wrapping immediately, anxious to see what he might have considered a boyfriend-worthy gift. But as she moved to tear a corner, David put the glittered gift bag she had hastily packed with Killian’s gift into his hands and she froze, the pressure of his response to her choice suddenly much more important. 

“I’ll need my arm back, Swan, if I’m to see what’s in this sparkly contraption.” She nodded and went to stand, but he pulled her back. “Where are you going, love?” he whispered against her ear, breath warm on her skin. “Just my arm will do. I like you where you are.” His words were like a bolt of electricity through her body, a sudden reminder of how close he was, how the nerves were tingling under her skin.

Maybe that last glass of rum had not been such a great idea.

Or maybe having another one would be an even better one. 

Either way, every part of her was on edge, want coursing through her with this unfamiliar proximity. 

Killian was methodical as he peeled back the tape that sealed the gift bag. Emma held her breath as he dipped his hand inside and drew out the bubble-wrapped contents. Her legs twitched as he again peeled the tape off carefully, his lips pulling into a grin as he recognised her impatience, his fingers slowing deliberately until she flicked his ear with a pout. 

He grabbed her arm with a playful stare, the gift abandoned momentarily as he placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. Emma heard Mary Margaret sigh happily, a sentiment she came close to echoing as his lips fluttered on her skin. Her cheeks coloured as his blue eyes searched hers anxiously, as if he was worried he had crossed some unspoken line. 

“Open your damn present, Jones,” she said, the note of gruffness in her voice hiding the very real urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him like her life depended on it. Instead she grabbed the glass of rum she had discarded on the end table, sipping slowly as he returned his attention to the gift.

“Oh Swan,” he breathed as he revealed the glass bottle housing a perfect replica of Hook’s Jolly Roger from Peter Pan. He turned it over in his hands, admiring the tiny detail and the craftsmanship, his face alight at each new discovery. “Ah, you know me so well. Those pajamas weren’t just a fluke at all, were they?” 

Emma shrugged, pleased beyond belief that he seemed to like it so much, the need to rip open her own gift returning with a vengeance. He seemed to sense her eagerness, nudging her shoulder gently and nodding his head towards the gift.

“Go on, love, you know you want to.” 

Draining the last of the rum before putting the glass aside, she took the present, tearing a strip of paper away slowly, holding herself back from her natural urge to demolish the wrappings to get to the contents. Her restraint lasted only a moment though, the remaining red paper quickly on the floor revealing the hardcover book inside. She ran her fingers over the raised gilt lettering, a small smile playing on her lips.

“ _ The Princess Bride _ ,” she read, turning it over in her hands. “You know, I have never actually read the book.”

“Look inside,” he said quietly.

His looping print was on the flyleaf of the book.

_ You told me you had  _ _ never _ _ read the original!! _

_ Inconceivable!! _

_ Much love, K. _

Oh, she was in so much trouble...

* * *

 

He had lost track of how much she had actually had to drink but the stumbled steps and tiny slur in her speech made it clear it had been a significant amount. Leaning into him, relying on him to help her navigate the stairs to their bedroom, he had relished the contact, still buzzing from having her on his lap, her body against his, but he knew it was the rum and not any change of heart about him that had her seeking his touch.

Or staring into his eyes as they lay face to face in their bed. There was a dreamy smile on her face and he was loathe to speak for fear he would break whatever spell had her sharing her space so willingly with him.

“Did I tell you I love my present?” she murmured, brushing a wayward strand of hair off his forehead. It was so casual, so easy, a tiny stutter in her speech the only thread reminding him that without the rum it would all be different.

“You did indeed, love,” he answered with a smile, “Several times, in fact. But I am more than happy to hear it again.” His hand hovered by his side, the temptation to slide it along her hip too strong to ignore. It was the lightest of touches and she closed her eyes for just a moment, a soft smile on her face that gave him the confidence to keep the contact. 

They lay in silence for several minutes, neither looking away, as Killian's heart thumped in his chest, his mind racing through a million different ways this could end.

She ran a hand slowly down his cheek, fingertips tickling his skin as she traced the line of his jaw. “You're pretty.” 

“I prefer devilishly handsome, love,” he said, chuckling softly as he took her hand away from his face. It felt so real, so intimate and he wasn’t sure how much of this flirty, loving Emma he could resist.

But drunk Emma was an obstinate creature. “Nope. You’re pretty as fuck,” she stated emphatically as her finger made a lazy path across his brow, along the line of his nose, booping it playfully when she was done.

It was all he could do not to crush her lips against his. His body was responding to her touch, his skin burning where her fingers made contact, craving more and more. But he knew the truth.

“And you, Emma Swan, are very, very drunk.”

She nodded slowly, her movements sluggish and imprecise as she grinned at him. “But I won’t be tomorrow and you will still be very,  _ very _ pretty.”

“My thanks, then, love.”

“You’re kind too, you know. Way too kind to me. I’m a mess and you just deal with all my shit and you’re here now and you’re the best boyfriend and it’s not even real and you’re a million times better than…”

A strangled sob escaped her, and he gathered her to him, her body fitting into his perfectly as she nestled against his chest. Not even real was a relative term, he thought as he traced nonsense patterns on her back with his fingers, because all of this felt bloody real to him.

Emma shifted against him, a movement that brought her face close to his, their foreheads all but touching. Her breath was spiced with rum, her eyes intent on his - clearer, more focused than she had been all evening. She took control in an instant, pressing her body hard against him as her lips found his and her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Her mouth was hard and insistent, her tongue sweeping across his lips until he allowed her in, a low moan escaping him as she deepened their kiss. 

His arms tightened around her waist as her lips began to wander, kissing a trail along his jaw and down his neck, nipping and nuzzling, his skin flaring at every touch. Without knowing how it happened, she was on top of him, the soft swell of her breasts pressed against his chest as his hands caressed the curve of her ass. She shifted her weight, rolling her hips into his with a rumbling growl that he felt in every inch of his being. 

She pushed up off his chest, straddling his legs as she ground against where he was hard and wanting. His body was alive with need for her, fingers itching to creep up under the soft cotton of her sleep shirt  - but as she rolled her head back unsteadily and looked up to the ceiling with unfocused eyes, the reality of the situation came flooding back. He took her hands from where they were raking through his chest hair, kissing her knuckles tenderly before carefully rolling them so they lay side by side once again.

“We can’t, Swan. We have to stop.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, her hand at the back of his head, guiding him to her lips. He wanted to let her - god how he wanted to, how he wanted her - but it wasn’t right. Not now.

He pulled back, removing her hand once again. Hurt flashed across her face, her brow furrowed in confusion, tiny wrinkles that he longed to kiss away. 

“If you don’t want me..” she started, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, but he didn’t let her finish.

“I think there's plenty of evidence to the contrary, love.” He thumbed away the droplet of water that had started to slide down her cheek, but she shook her head away, pulling back from him to eye him defiantly.

“Well, then?” 

“Not like this Emma. Not when Granny’s bloody punch is making decisions for you.”

“It’s not…” she began but he just cocked his head at her. Her face darkened, a rum-induced tantrum playing on her features that would have been ridiculously cute if his body hadn't been fighting his need for her so hard.

“Fine,” she huffed. She flipped herself over dramatically, her back a staunch wall between them. 

They lay in silence for what seemed like hours, Killian watching as Emma's shoulders rose and fell, the tension evident with every breath. He rolled onto his back, willing the ache of need to subside, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he slowed his breathing, anything to calm the urges that were setting his skin alight.

He sighed deeply, hoping she would turn back to him, that she would see the sense in what he was saying but her back remained. He thought about reaching out, about making soothing circles on her skin in an attempt to recapture the closeness they had felt as they opened their gifts, back when this whole thing made sense. But as the chimes of the living room clock echoed through the silent apartment, it seemed like it was not to be. Determined to reassure her, to smooth the hurt if he possibly could, he spoke his mind, hoping she was listening. 

“I want you, Emma Swan. I have never wanted anyone like I want you. But not like this. Not when you could wake in the morning with a raging hangover and a massive case of regret. When we do this, and bloody hell I want to do this, it will be because you want me, Emma - no drink, no tricks. Please tell me you understand?” 

There was no movement from Emma’s side of the bed. No indication that she had heard his plea.

Just a distinct little snore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to tell me they have enjoyed this story! I am overwhelmed by you all!!

The tall glass of water and the aspirin on her bedside table came into focus before anything else in her bedroom. The thumping in Emma’s head felt like some horrific death metal concert and the arid wasteland that was her mouth was beyond anything she had ever experienced. What the hell had been in that punch of Granny’s?

She blinked her eyes open, the rest of the room slowly coming into view. The red covered book was also on the nightstand and she reached out her hand to carefully stroke the raised lettering, her stomach swooping at the thought of his words and his inscription and his arms around her... 

His kiss. Her lips burned at the thought and she ran a finger along them at the memory, a dull aching need still evident as she relived his lips pressed hard on hers.

And then she remembered everything.

Her face flushed red as his rejection came flooding back through her mind. He knew how hard it was for her to let go, to open up, to take a chance and he had pushed her away. He didn’t want her - well, part of him didn’t, she thought, the memory of the part that so obviously had burned into her brain - and just as she had feared she had blown any chance she had of salvaging the comfortable friendship they had away from here.

Merry fucking Christmas to her.

Emma rolled over, steeling herself in preparation for seeing him there, her head swimming with a mix of hangover and embarrassment. But the other side of the bed was empty and as she lay in the quiet, faint sounds of talking drifted up from the living room. 

It was sorely tempting to pull the covers over her head and hide - how was she going to face him, pretend to be part of this wonderful relationship for the benefit of her family when she could not imagine even looking him in the eye? She was humiliated - thinking she had seen signs that he had come to feel the same when they obviously weren't there.

And then there was the prospect of endless hours in the cramped conditions of her bug as they made their way home. A sigh escaped her lips as she sat up gingerly, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to stop the throbbing.

She was certain of one thing.

He was going to have to drive.

* * *

 

“Merry Christmas, sis,” David called out as she descended the stairs. A long shower and the aspirin had made some inroads in making her feel more human, but neither had been sufficient to deal with his booming voice at this time of the morning. 

She grunted in response.

“Ah, just like old times,” her brother joked to Killian who was perched at the counter, steaming coffee cup in his hand.”That was virtually the soundtrack of Emma’s teenage years.” 

“Oh, leave her alone.” Mary Margaret slapped her husband playfully as she placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Looks like Granny’s rum punch claimed another victim.” 

Emma nodded, regretting the quick movement as soon as she had done it. She held her head as she climbed onto the stool next to David, the smell of the fresh cooked pancakes making her mouth water and her stomach churn at the same time.

Hunger won the day - barely.

“Did you find the little gift I left for you, Swan?” Killian asked as she drizzled syrup on her breakfast. His voice was level and even, no sign of discomfort at all, although there was definitely a tinge of amusement at her self-inflicted pain. She assumed he meant the pills and water and she hummed a reply without making eye contact.

Mary Margaret wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulder and leaned her head in close. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. It’s so lovely having you here.” She smiled across at Killian. “And you, too. Talk about a perfect match.”

Emma shrugged away from her sister-in-law, glancing at Killian briefly before returning her attention to her pancakes. He was watching her, his brow knotted in what looked like confusion. 

She couldn’t imagine why. He had seemed very sure of what he wanted - or  _ didn’t _ want - earlier.

Finished with his breakfast, he moved towards her, hands resting on her shoulders as he leaned in close. Emma tensed, hoping he would move away, hoping her own traitorous skin would stop sparking at his touch, but he was nothing if not persistent. 

“All right, Swan?” he asked quietly. “You seem a bit on edge even by your standards.” He chuckled lightly with this, but his attempt to lighten the mood was met by deaf ears.

“I’m fine. We don’t have time for this,” she snapped. “We have a long drive and we better get going soon.” Her abrupt response was enough to make him step back, withdrawing his hands and thrusting them deep into his pockets.

“Whatever you like, Swan.” His narrowed eyes scanned her face, but she just stared back, daring him to question her. There was a moment when she thought he would, that he would probe further and risk her anger - but he stepped further away, his head bowed.

“I’ll go and collect our belongings from upstairs, then, shall I?”

“You do that.” He turned and went and Emma felt her bottom lip tremble. How quickly they had fallen apart. She had worked so hard to keep him at a distance and when she had finally realised she wanted him, that she needed him, it was him who had stepped away. She wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye, hoping against hope that Mary Margaret hadn’t seen her moment of weakness.

He was back with their bags as she drained the last drops of her coffee. 

“Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Mary Margaret asked with a pout. David squeezed his wife’s shoulder comfortingly before reaching out to fold his sister into his arms.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said to her. “There’s still plenty of Storybrooke this guy hasn’t seen.” Letting Emma go, he clapped Killian on the back heartily with one hand, before seeming to weigh his options and pull him into a hug of his own. 

“You’ll come back for the Valentine’s party at Granny’s,” Mary Margaret stated emphatically. “What better way to celebrate you two being so in love?” Emma sucked in a breath as she darted her eyes in Killian’s direction. He was smiling at Mary Margaret, seemingly agreeing that they would, indeed, be back for the celebration. Emma looked at each of them in turn - David, his warm smile directed at the boyfriend who wasn’t, Mary Margaret with her eyes shining at the thought of true love and Killian...well, Killian’s handsome face was tinged with confusion, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

“No.” Emma’s voice was quiet but firm. They all turned to look at her, questions evident on their faces.

“Swan?” Killian was first to break the stunned silence.

“No.  _ We’re _ not coming back for that. Because there is no ‘we’ - we’re not a couple, we’re not in love. God, I don’t even like him half the time, he’s so fucking annoying.” She could feel momentum building, ignoring the hurt in Killian’s eyes at her words. 

“What are you talking about, Emma?” Mary Margaret moved close to her husband, her face clouded with concern.

“Yes, Emma, what do you mean?” David held his wife, his eyes darting between Emma and Killian, who stood a few steps away, his jaw clenching with tension as he waited for her to continue. 

Emma took a deep breath, blowing the air out forcefully as she realised she had no choice but to finish her confession. “It was a moment of weakness - you wanted me to have someone so badly I decided to give you what you wanted. And Killian agreed to help me. It’s all fake, all pretend. He doesn’t love me and I don’t love him. We are friends, no more.”

There was a look that passed between her brother and sister-in-law that Emma decided not to analyse at that moment. She was breathing heavily, unsure what else to say and unable to look at her co-conspirator, the man she had just blatantly lied about to her family.

Because the deep aching in her heart was telling her with certainty that her loving Killian Jones was the absolute truth. 

There was an uneasy silence in the apartment. Again, it was Killian who broke it.

“Right, well, I suppose it is good to have that all out in the open. Honesty is always the best policy and all that.” Emma looked away quickly as his eyes met hers, something pointed in his expression making her decidedly uncomfortable. She was relieved when he turned his attention to David and Mary Margaret. “For my part, I apologise for deceiving you both when you have been so welcoming and gracious to me. This may have been ill-advised as plans go, but please know I had Emma’s best interests at heart. I’ll take my leave and meet you at the car, Swan.”

He turned and gathered their bags without another word. Before he could leave the room, however, Mary Margaret wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Emma was almost sure she heard her whisper the word “Bullshit” in his ear, but her sister-in-law was the picture of innocence when he was gone.

Emma turned to face her brother, who stood with his arms folded across his chest, lips pursed in disapproval. “I’m sorry, David. This whole thing was completely stupid.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. Emma cocked her head in confusion, unsure what her brother could possibly have to be sorry about. He continued before she could ask the question. “I’m sorry you are so damned blind. We already had this conversation and I meant it then and I mean it now. I don’t know what happened between the two of you last night -” he held up a hand to her in case she was tempted to enlighten him - “no, I don’t want to know, either. But there is nothing fake about what you two have no matter how determined you are to say it is. And if you don’t grab this thing with both hands and run with it then you are crazy.”

Emma looked to her sister-in-law, hoping that somehow she might find an ally under this kind of attack from her brother but Mary Margaret stood firm, arms crossed over her chest, nodding her agreement pointedly.

“You too?” Emma asked her. Mary Margaret’s face softened slightly and she pulled Emma into a hug, hand rubbing comfortably between her shoulder blades. 

“Do not let that man slip through your fingers because you are too scared to let him in, Emma. Do  _ not _ .” 

The pain of his rejection came flooding back, a single tear sliding silently down her cheek as she let herself relax in Mary Margaret’s arms. “There’s nothing to let slip,” she whispered, “He’s not interested in me like that.”  

The derisive snort at these words from Mary Margaret was something to behold. She pushed Emma gently away, fingers gripping her shoulders tightly as she looked unflinchingly into Emma’s green eyes.

“I said it to him and I will say it to you. Bullshit.” Over Mary Margaret’s shoulder, Emma could see her brother nodding emphatically now, eyebrows raised knowingly as he stared her down, clearly in complete agreement with his wife. They had this tag team thing down, Emma thought, as she bowed her head and avoided the full impact of their attention for just a moment. 

Mary Margaret pulled Emma close again, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and hugging her tight. Her sister-in-law’s voice was soft in her ear, soft but insistent. “We love you, Emma, but you are wrong about this. You have a long, long drive ahead of you and I highly recommend you use it to talk to him and sort this out.” Pulling back, she turned Emma in the direction of the door, giving her a small shove to get her moving. 

She looked back at the couple, doubt still clear on her face. No matter how hard they tried to convince her she was wrong, the memory of turning away from him, skin still burning with desire as her heart crumbled, was impossible to ignore. She gave them a half-hearted wave as she reached the door. “Merry Christmas,” she said with a sigh.

“We will see you for Valentine’s,” Mary Margaret stated. “ _ Both _ of you.” 

* * *

 

The contrast with their trip only days ago was not lost on Emma. Killian had taken the keys from her without a word, sliding into the driver's seat with a look that she knew would brook no argument.

There was no idle chatter, no mad suppositions this time, just the relentless drumbeat of the classic rock playlist he had started on his ipod and the occasional curse word under his breath as he wrestled with the bug's temperamental steering. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass as the miles slipped away, her thoughts heavy in the silence. 

They stopped for gas and to stretch their legs midway through their journey, both heading in opposite directions as soon as they got out of the car. When Killian headed into the roadhouse, Emma escaped to the bathroom, leaning heavily on the sink as she examined her face in the mirror. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her skin looking every bit as tired and dehydrated as she felt. She splashed her face with water, dragged her hairbrush through her tousled hair, anything it took to make herself feel more normal. 

It was all for nothing when she emerged to Killian leaning against the bug, his long legs outstretched as he stared off into the distance. Emma’s breath caught in her throat, a clenching low in her belly reminding her just how much he meant to her.

And how spectacularly she had fucked the whole thing up.

As she got closer, he thrust a take away coffee towards her.

“Thought you might need a pick me up, Swan,” he said quietly, the hint of a smile on his lips. Emma took the cup, warming her hands around it as she took a sip. Words were swirling around her head - so many things she wanted to say, to ask, to apologise for - but words were never her strong suit. Actions were her currency but the only thing she could think about was the one thing he had made it clear he didn’t want. 

It would have to be words.

“Killian, I - “ she started, but when she paused he was quick to interject.

“No, Swan, it’s all fine. As I said to David and Mary Margaret, better to have the truth out there and know where we stand. Shall we get going?” 

He was gone and in the driver’s seat before she could formulate anything else. Shoulders slumping in defeat, Emma slid in beside him, prepared for more uncomfortable silence.

* * *

 

He had ordered the coffee, just the way she liked it, without a second thought, forgetting that he was supposed to be hurt or angry or not falling right back into loving her with all his heart. 

Too bloody late for that.

It took a studied effort not to stare as she emerged from the dingy gas station bathroom -  hungover, clearly exhausted and yet still with the power to take his breath away. The scent of her was still on his skin, in his nostrils, all pervading and forcing his thoughts back to her body pressed against him, her kiss hungry and insistent. Everything he had wanted since almost the moment they met - but not if she needed to be rolling drunk to want it too.

Hangovers and regrets had been his prediction and it seemed his perceptive nature had got the better of him yet again. 

He held the cup out to her with minimal eye contact, unsure if the idea of finding regret or pity on her face was more difficult to deal with. She had made her position abundantly clear to her family - how foolish she must think him, imagining there was something more than their pretence between them.  

“Killian, I -” Emma began, but the thought of her talking about them being just friends, of her apologising for not returning his feelings was too much to bear. Not after he had slept with her in his arms, had kissed her like his life depended on it, had been part of her world and her home and her family. Not yet. 

“No, Swan, it’s all fine. As I said to David and Mary Margaret, better to have the truth out there and know where we stand. Shall we get going?” 

He gave her no time to say more, just climbed back into the driver’s seat and directed his attention to his iPod as she followed suit. She sighed deeply as she slouched down in her seat, head against the window and her body angled subtly away from him. Starting a conversation with him would not have been easy for her, he knew, and as much as he hated to use her insecurities to his advantage, knowing the chance of her trying again was minimal was a comfort.

It might at least get him through the rest of this drive, when her nearness was still setting his body on a crash course with the heart he was trying so hard to protect. 

The music washed over him - nothing relaxed him more - and as INXS turned to Queen he found himself singing along, his voice quiet at first but building in power and volume as the distance to home grew shorter. As the opening strains of Bohemian Rhapsody sounded in the car, he realised Emma was humming along with him and a smile came unbidden to his face as he looked across at her. She shrugged apologetically but he gestured for her to continue and they both sang the familiar words, louder and louder as the song progressed. 

Both were laughing as they reached the end. “Decided against participating in the head banging section, love?” he asked and she rolled her eyes at him, taking a pointed swig from her water bottle. He forgot everything for a moment, winking at her as he hit replay on the iPod, ready for another chance to feel a little of what they had before.

As he pulled the bug into the kerb outside their apartment building, he stopped, unsure of what, if anything to say. Emma saved him the worry by wasting no time in climbing out and unloading her bag from the back seat, before going back for his. He met her by the stairs, slipping the bags out of her hands with a very determined look and heading towards their floor. 

At her door, he placed her bag down and waited for her to unlock her front door. 

“Good evening, Swan. ” he said as she stepped inside, turning towards his own door before he said or did something he might regret. The urge to lean in and kiss her had all but overwhelmed him and he knew retreat was his only option. 

“Killian?”

He stopped mid step, taking in a deep breath as he realised his getaway was not complete. He turned slowly, finding Emma leaned against her doorframe, her expression hopeful as she twisted the ends of her blonde hair in her fingers. 

“Yes, Swan?”

“Do you want to come in and watch Netflix or something? I feel pretty wired after the coffee and the travelling.”

Oh God he wanted to, he wanted to laze on her couch and to pull her into his arms and to laugh with her and kiss her into oblivion…

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Emma.” Her face fell, confusion and hurt knotting her brows, her teeth embedded in her bottom lip as she watched him back away. 

“I hoped we could get back to normal,” she said quietly, her voice faltering. “I mean, back to how things were before, hanging out and whatever. The real stuff we do.”

Those words hit him in the chest, all but knocking the air out of him. He took a couple of deep, deep breaths, watching as she picked at the sleeve of her jacket, avoiding his eyes. He ran his hand across his face, understanding the risk he would be taking if he said what he knew he needed to.

It wasn’t enough reason not to.

“You see, that’s the problem,” he started, taking a step towards her. “It’s all been real to me, Emma. All of it. Waking up with you, holding you in my arms, being with you around your family - I have dreamed of every one of those things for the longest time. I want all of that and I want it with you.”

Emma’s eyes were wide as he stepped towards her again, close enough to reach out a hand and lift her chin till her eyes were level with his. She said nothing, but he could see panic building in her face, and it was all he could do not to fold her into his arms and keep her there.

“I would never abandon you, love, and if you don’t want those things with me it’s ok. I get it. We’ll go back to hanging out and our normal lives. But I need some time to look after my own heart just now. Can you give me that?”

She nodded slowly. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Swan. See you soon.”

He turned and walked away, knowing he couldn’t look back, not while the heart he had wanted to protect was breaking. 

Inside his own apartment, he slumped against his door, as moments from their time in Storybrooke flashed through his mind. The surprise in her eyes as he had kissed her on the pavement outside the loft, the jolt of heat as she had thrust herself into his space and under his skin under the mistletoe. He slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. Her gift to him was poking out of his overnight bag, the sparkling gift bag drawing his attention and reminding him of her snuggled into his lap, for all the world a real couple in love. 

Rather than just a man wrapped up in a hopeless cause. 

The knock on the door came as he was twisting and turning the ship in a bottle in his hands, admiring the workmanship and the thought that had gone into the gift. No wonder he had started to imagine there was more.

“Killian?” came her voice through the door. He froze, shaking his head in disbelief as he dragged himself to his feet. Swinging open the door, he found her just about to knock again, the look on her face unreadable.

“Swan, you really shouldn’t sell yourself short. I’m going to require a little more time than that to truly put my feelings for you to rest.”

She took a step into his space, her breathing studied and even as her hand reached up to touch his face. 

“I’ve got this invitation to a Valentine’s party at Granny’s,” she whispered, her nose bumping his as her breath tickled the sensitive skin of his lips. “I’d really like you to go with me.” She swayed slightly, her body leaning into his, as her tongue darted out across her lips. 

Killian’s heart was thumping in his chest, so loud he was sure she must be able to hear it. Her hand came to rest over it, it’s steady rhythm grounding him as his world spun on its axis.

“I don’t think I can pretend to be your boyfriend again, Emma.” His voice was a growl, laden with desire as her hands snaked their way around his waist, subtly angling herself against him where he could feel his body stirring in response.

“I don’t think I want you to pretend,” she murmured against his lips, walking him backwards into his apartment as his hands wound their way into her hair, kicking the door closed behind her with a sharp tap of one booted foot.

* * *

 

The moan that escaped her lips as he nuzzled her neck with tongue and teeth echoed in the cramped space. “Don’t you give me a hickey where everyone can see, Jones,” she growled as his hand crept its way up and under her knit sweater, gently caressing the swell of her breast, following the line of her bra over the soft, smooth skin. 

“A man needs his fun, Swan,” he breathed, his fingers deftly pushing away the fabric to explore her more fully. “And besides, there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world and it would be a shame to damage yours. So your delectable neck it must be.” 

“Have I ever told you I love it when you quote stuff at me?” she asked as his mouth moved up the column of her neck towards her own. Lips and hands worked in tandem, as Emma’s skin cried out for his touch, nothing slow or hesitant about the way she ran her hands over his chest and under his jacket, relishing the feel of his strong shoulders under her fingers.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, Swan?” Nothing in the low tone of his voice suggested he was at all worried about that fact. 

“You wore the damn suit, buddy. You know what it does to me.” 

“I rely on what it does to you, love.” He returned his attentions to kissing her, but Emma began to laugh. He pulled back, eyeing her curiously as she giggled to herself.

“Swan? I’ve not had that reaction to my romantic endeavours before, I must say.” 

“I was just thinking that if the suit has this effect on me, you had better watch your ass around Granny.” He chuckled softly at the thought.

“Indeed. Literally, I fear.”

Emma only nodded, looking up at the lighted window of David and Mary Margaret’s apartment. The curtain shifted slightly and she grinned at the memory of the last time they had sat here, her nerves rooting her to the spot.

It was definitely something different keeping her here today.

A dark-haired, hot as hell something who had found his way into her heart and her life and her future. Emma ran her hand gently down his face, cupping his chin and resting her forehead on his.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“And I you, Swan.” He took her hand, kissing the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist before interlocking his fingers with hers. “Shall we go in and put David out of his misery? I’m sure we have given him some sort of conniption out here with the windows fogged up.” 

Emma grinned wickedly at him, wrapping her free hand around the back of his neck, her fingers twisting in his hair as she pulled him back to her lips. “Or perhaps you want me to bounce around a bit and really get him thinking?” 

Killian laughed loudly. “There’s nothing I’d like more, love. But I really think it’s best not have a man registered to carry a weapon angry with me for publicly man-handling his sister.”

“Coward.” Emma pulled back, her hand dragging slowly across his chest one last time, toying with the top button on his dress shirt.

“Perhaps.” He peered out of the car, looking up towards the apartment window where David was clearly silhouetted. “But as we’d best go in, stay there and I'll prove I am also a gentleman.” He was out of the car and at her door before the keys were out of the ignition. She took his proffered hand, the love in his eyes enough to make her heart skip. They had come so far since they were last here, she thought, swaying into him in the hope he would take the hint and wrap his arms around her.

He didn’t disappoint.

His lips brushed her forehead as she snaked her arms around his waist. Over Killian’s shoulder, she could see her brother still watching from the window, and she glared at him at just the same moment as Mary Margaret appeared to move him along. Her sister-in-law grinned at her, giving Emma a thumbs up before dragging David away.

“We’d better go,” she sighed.

“Before we do, Swan, I have one question for you.” Emma couldn’t read the look on his face, his eyes earnest but his mouth was twitching at the corners in the way she had learned meant he was up to something. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that?”

“You love me. Real or not real?” 

“Never should have shown you that movie, should I?” 

“Any story where the guy who isn’t played by the Hemsworth gets the girl speaks to me, Swan. And please tell me you have read the books.”

Emma shook her head against his chest, the rumble of his laugh echoing in her ears. “Well there’s next Christmas sorted,” he whispered. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

She met his eyes, the depth of the blue always startling despite knowing them so well. Reaching up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his, her hands following their favourite path from his hips and up the hard planes of his chest before tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Real,” she murmured, her lips still brushing his skin. “Absolutely real.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to tnlph for beta duties


End file.
